


Blood

by Thatfatcat4



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blood, Bloody but not gory, Henry is afraid of patrick, Implied Relationships, M/M, Patrick can't feel pain, Patrick is a weird guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 11:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatfatcat4/pseuds/Thatfatcat4
Summary: Patrick got excited when he saw Henry almost carve his whole name into Ben, and wanted Henry to do the same to him. Henry is hesitant, but agrees.





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Hhhnnggg oof I guess

The blood dripped from Patrick's stomach onto his mattress, which lacked a sheet, or any blankets at the moment.

"I got the H. You're sure you're okay with this?" Henry asked him. He wasn't concerned about Patrick, though. Far from it. His main concern is that Patrick would decide afterwards he didn't want this and do something exceptionally fucked up to Henry. The possibilities are endless. He could pin him down and do what he wants, he could just kill Henry like he did to his brother. But the worst fear on Henry's mind was being locked in that fridge in the junkyard for three days. Covered in his own piss and shit, his legs lost all movement on the second day of being crammed in there. Patrick does not come back for him.

"Calm down, Hen. I'm fine." Patrick chuckled, and reached out to grab Henry's hip.  
"Don't touch me." Henry flatly told him and slapped his arm away.   
Henry pushed his knife into Patrick's skin once again, and carved a jagged E into him. Patrick grunted, and curled his hands into fists, but he didn't squirm, or try to stop Henry.  
After all, it was Patrick who suggested this.

Henry didn't understand the strange boy laying on the mattress beneath him. He's the most fucked up guy he's ever met. Patrick either loves the pain of Henry carving in the next letter, N, into his stomach or he just can't feel it entirely. When Henry carved that H into Ben Hanscom, that's what gave Patrick the idea. Seeing the knife push into Ben's fat skin and seeing the warm blood spill out of him made Patrick more excited than killing any cat or dog ever could. It was then he decided he wanted Henry to do the same to him. But, unlike Ben he had no plans to resist. And he wanted the whole name on his abdomen.

Once Henry started on the R, he pushed down a bit harder. Henry wanted a reaction. More than just a grunt, or a quick balled up fist grabbing onto his pant leg. He wanted to see Patrick scream.

Of course, you wouldnt get a scream of pain from Patrick Hockstetter. What Henry got was a moan that was right on the line between pleasure and pain. If you heard it in the distance, you wouldnt know if he was getting fucked or getting killed. In Patrick's mind, the two overlap quite often.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Hockstetter. Can't you feel pain?" Henry grunted in annoyance, and begun on the Y.  
" 'course I can," Patrick whispered, shutting his eyes tightly.  
"I like it." Patrick opened his eyes again, and stared into Henry's.

Henry shuttered. If any stare could make a man feel like there were beetles in his skin, it was the stare of Patrick Hockstetter. There wasn't a more fucked up guy in Derry, not Maine either, probably not even America. Patrick is a lot like Jeffrey Dahmer, Henry thinks. The resemblance is uncanny. Normal home life, psychopathic tendencies, likes to kill animals, a faggot, the list goes on. 

"Mmph." Patrick grunted as Henry finishes the final curve of the Y.

"There, you fucking creep." Henry put his knife back in his pocket hesitantly.   
He thought that at any second Patrick would stand up and try to have a go at taking his head off to keep as a trophy in his room.

"Thanks." Was all Patrick said as he stood from the bed. His grey tank top falling down from where it was bunched up, and half covering the open wound. Blood was already soaking through his shirt.   
That 'thanks' didn't make Henry feel much better. Patrick still had that look in his eyes. That look where he's standing with half his body slouched, his head cocked to the side as he stares at you curiously. The look of a hawk watching a field mouse. Nothing failed to make Henry feel as uneasy as the way Patrick looked at him. With his dull, murderous eyes. Everyone knows that Patrick is a bit off, but no one knows like Henry Bowers does. Hell, Henry had been the subject of a lot of it.

"You're too kind." Patrick smirked, and clamped his clammy hand onto Henry's bicep. Henry flinched, and closed his eyes momentarily. A response that had been put in place by his father, and solidified by Patrick himself.

"Oh, come on. You really think I would hurt you?" Patrick said softly, placing his finger under Henry's chin and tilting his head to look at him.  
"I know you would." Henry told him.   
"You're right." Patrick's smirk intensified, and Henry got the violent urge in his body to run. But where would he go? He was out in the middle of nowhere at Patrick's house. It isn't like his own home is just a few doors down.  
"Please, don't." Henry whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

Patrick chuckled. It was rare on occasions like this where Patrick did not end up leaving Henry with a few bruises and some wounds that would most definitely turn into some scars. There was a difference between Patrick hurting Henry and Henry carving his name into Patrick. You see, whenever Patrick hurts Henry it's because he wanted to. He likes seeing Henry whine and squirm. It gives a similar rush to locking an animal in his junkyard fridge, except Henry is much bigger prey. Henry doesn't like this, but he tolerates it because he doesn't believe anyone else can love him. That's why he settles for Patrick. Whenever Henry hurts Patrick, it's always either because Patrick asked him to or because it was some sort of warped reflex to any contact Patrick tries to make with him.

"Come on, I know you like it." Patrick whispered in Henry's ear. He didn't. He didn't like it at all. There was nothing he hates more than when Patrick hurts him. No matter what he does, burn him, cut him, punch him, or anything else he can think of. Henry does not like it. He dreads it every single night and day. He has nightmares regularly of Patrick taking it too far and killing him.   
"I don't."  
Patrick frowed a bit, then jerked his hand up to wrap his slender fingers around Henry's throat.

The blood from Patrick's stomach had dripped down his legs by now, and was now in small droplets on the floor.

"We can use my blood as lube." Patrick told Henry, who clawed as his hand to try and get him the fuck away from his throat. Finally, Patrick let go.

"You are one sick fuck." Henry tried to back away, but it was as if the dead stare of Patrick kept him in place.  
"You know how this goes." Patrick growled, and pulled Henry towards him by the sleeve of his shirt.  
"I can't believe I just carved my fucking name into you and yet I'm still somehow the bitch." Henry grumbled, and was pushed onto Patrick's bed. He landed right on the spots covered by Patrick's blood, and it stained his shirt rather quickly.

"Fuck you. I liked this shirt."   
Henry hissed, but lost a bit of his hostility when Patrick climbed on top of him and pinned his wrists to the mattress.  
"Can't we just do something else for once?" Henry asked desperately. Normally blood and gore didn't make him squeamish, but the way the blood  ran down from Patrick's soaked shirt onto his own, making a disgusting dripping noise, was making Henry's hair feel like it was going to rattle out of his scalp.

"What, don't like blood?" Patrick snickered.  
"Not yours." Henry didn't even try to struggle anymore. He knew that what was going to happen was going to happen. It always did.


End file.
